Warmth
by mypatronusisahorcrux
Summary: In which Cassian returns home from his most recent mission feeling under the weather but loathe to admit it, and Jyn finds herself with a clingy Rebellion Captain on her hands. Nonsexual Acts of Intimacy Prompts #6


**Author's Note:** **Today's prompt for the Nonsexual Acts of Intimacy Series: Caring for each other while ill.**

 **As always, come say hi on Tumblr! I'm RxbxlCaptain :)**

If the Rebellion asked General Dravits Draven to describe Captain Andor, he wouldn't hesitate to call the man one of his best agents. He'd tell them Andor is direct, effective, and almost always the best man for the job.

Eyeing the captain now, Draven admits how necessary the "almost" is. Not because Cassian didn't succeed in his last mission – in fact, he went above and beyond the official assignment of uncovering Imperial shipping routes off Coruscant by establishing contacts on the ground that would _keep_ informing the Alliance of changes to the route – but because of the glazed look in his eye.

Draven has known Cassian since before he started shaving; he's seen Cassian broken and bleeding and quietly lamenting a colony of zits breaking out on his forehead after the fifteen-year-old couldn't shower for a week on a mission. This familiarity means one thing: Draven understands the chances of Cassian Andor admitting the flush coloring his cheeks, the cough escaping his lungs, and the tired slip of his eyelids during his report means he's ill are slim to none.

 _Where's that damn droid when you need it?_ Draven snorts to himself, picturing the KX droid blurting out the recent uptick in Cassian's temperature and the statistical likelihood that Cassian caught a virus. But K-2SO hasn't been repaired since Scarif – apparently the droid left many backups of his personality stashed around the base for events like this; Cassian only needs to find a body to replace it – so Draven silently assumes the responsibility of attempting to get Andor to take care of himself.

To solidify Draven's assumptions, Cassian stops his report to let a fit of coughing pass. He attempts to continue as if nothing happened, but Draven holds up his hand, stopping him with a small shake of his head.

"Have you considered finishing this report when you can actually breathe, Captain?" Draven's voice isn't even subtly sarcastic.

"I'm fine, sir." And Andor's not subtly stubborn.

Draven leans back in his chair, hands going behind his head, considering. "Would you like a few days to rest before heading out again?"

"No, sir. I'm fine to continue."

 _If only your voice wasn't hoarse while you said that_ , Draven berates his officer mentally. The general shoots Cassian a look, one eyebrow slightly cocked. Cassian's feet shuffle slightly, recognizing his superior's displeasure with his answer.

"I should think," Draven begins, "that you've been with the Rebellion long enough to recognize when a question is rhetorical, Captain."

Cassian's shoulder's slump, obviously reigning himself to a few days of bed rest. "Yes, sir."

"Report back to me when you're feeling better." After a second of consideration, he amends his statement: "Which should be at least forty-eight hours from now. If not longer."

"Yes, sir."

The fact that Andor isn't bothering to fight him reaffirms that Draven is making the correct decision.

"Chin up, Andor," Draven calls before Cassian leaves the room. "I understand Jyn Erso is also between missions. So at least you won't be lonely."

And if the color on Cassian's cheeks deepens, Draven simply blames the fever.

Cassian was home. Cassian landed over an hour ago, and Jyn hadn't seen him yet.

She'd been doing target practice on the opposite side of base when he'd landed, and _somehow_ no one thought to tell her. Jyn grinds her teeth slightly at the thought. Of course, their relationship – is that the right way to describe it? Jyn hates to put labels on things – is an interesting mixture between the subject of the Rebellion's metaphorical gossip columns and still officially a secret, which is probably why no one rushed to tell Jyn when Cassian's U-Wing landed after a week-long mission to the heart of Imperial territory.

Jyn never knows how long Cassian will be on base, the schedule of an intelligence officer much more hectic and spur of the moment than the strategic, planned out life of a Pathfinder, so she never likes to waste any of their shared time. Hence why, when her quick sweep of the mess had turned up empty, Jyn's current destination is Cassian's quarters. She reaches the familiar door with ease and knocks.

And waits.

And knocks.

And waits.

Jyn furrows her eyebrows, wondering where Cassian could possibly be if he wasn't in his quarters. General Draven had been in the mess, eating with several other members of the Alliance brass, so he wouldn't still be in debrief.

With a shrug, Jyn enters in the passcode for Cassian's door. If he didn't want her walking into his quarters on a whim, Jyn reasons he wouldn't have told it to her – or, at least, let her stand next to him as she clearly and obviously memorized the numbers he was typing in.

The room is dark as Jyn steps into it, so much so that she nearly assumes he must be elsewhere. No sound of water comes from the fresher, so he wouldn't be in there, either. His bag lays in a sloppy heap a few steps inside the door, however, so Cassian at least passed through the room at some point.

Jyn turns around to leave before a tired, croaking voice stops her.

"If you know the passcode, why were you going to make me answer the door?"

Jyn, who considers herself fairly bombproof and hard to scare, nearly jumps at the unexpected voice coming from Cassian's blankets.

Only because he already spoke can Jyn identify the small pieces of Cassian that stick out from his blanket. His dark hair dusts the white pillow. His forehead, tightly closed eyes and nose escape from the top of his blanket, but everything else remains hidden, explaining the muffled tone of his voice.

"Cassian?" Jyn asks, her voice soft in an attempt to be soothing. "Are you alright?"

"'m fine," comes the stifled answer.

"You don't sound fine."

Stubborn to the core, Cassian pushes away the blankets and shoves himself up onto his elbow. He stares Jyn down in a way that he probably meant to be threatening, but falls somewhat short thanks to his glassy eyes and bright red nose.

"That's what Draven said during debrief."

Jyn snorts at the idea of her and General Draven finally agreeing on something. Who would have guessed what finally connected them would be their protective instincts of Cassian?

"He told me to take a few days off," Cassian's continued rant pauses for a fit of coughing to escape. Jyn moves closer, but he holds up a hand, keeping her back. "Told me not to come back until I'm feeling better."

"Which is stupid, because you're fine, right?" Jyn surmised, attempting to keep the mockery out of her voice.

Cassian's chin juts up, defiant. "Right."

Hesitantly, Jyn reaches out to rest a hand against Cassian's forehead, certain he's going to pull away. Instead, his eyes flutter shut and his head gently lolls into her touch.

"Cassian, you're burning up." Jyn doesn't know the details of his last mission – doesn't have the security clearance to know almost any of his missions – but images of seedy cantinas crawling with dirt and germs coupled with hours of waiting in a raining alleyway comes into her mind. Whatever illness his body's fighting, he had to pick it up somewhere.

"Your hands feel nice," Cassian murmurs in response, nuzzling his nose against her wrist.

The actions are so unlike Cassian Jyn simply takes a moment to stare at him. She's never seen him act sick; she's seen him injured – images of Cassian floating, body limp and unresponsive, in a bacta tank after Scarif runs across Jyn's mind – but when he'd awoken, he immediately snapped back to business, ready to hobble down to the command center to hear new briefings and help coordinate the Rebellion's attack on the Death Star. Seeing him succumbing to sickness, what looks like only a mere head cold, makes him seem more human. Jyn's heart swells in her chest, pure affection overcoming her initial desire to tease.

"Here," Jyn says softly, laying him back onto the pillows. "Why don't you lay down?"

Cassian captures her wrist as she attempts to stand. "No, don't go. I haven't seen you in too long."

He's right, of course; their respective duties to the Alliance mean they've seen each other mere hours in the last month. Dreams of their reunion, hopefully longer than a few minutes of hurried conversation in the hanger, had featured in Jyn's dreams for the last few weeks: his strong arms wrapping around her waist, the gentle press of his lips against hers, the quiet laughter they shared in his bunk in the early hours of the morning.

But if he needs her to take care of him, then she will. She'll do whatever he needs.

"I'm right here," Jyn assures him, intertwining their fingers. For someone so completely out of it, Cassian still has a firm grip. "But you need rest."

Cassian shakes his head, a series of rough coughs rattling his chest. They sound wet, which worries Jyn, but he settles after a few seconds and seems ready to blow it off again.

"Should you go to medbay?" Jyn asks quietly, unsure of how best to deal with this, worried that this might be the sign of something worse. Sure, Jyn spent plenty of years ignoring her own illnesses, working through them until she dropped because credits were tight and no one was taking care of her, but this is different. The Rebellion, for all its limited resources, does its best to treat all its ailing soldiers thoroughly. And Cassian never needs to worry about having someone to look after him; not as long as Jyn lives and breathes.

But Cassian's eyes flash open, the defensive look dominating his eyes again.

"No," he all but growls (or is his throat so sore that his voice just sounds that rough?), "because medbay is for sick people, and I am _not sick._ "

For a moment, Jyn allows herself to picture Cassian as a toddler: four-years-old, maybe, clinging to his mother's leg, cheeks flushed with fever and nose running, face screwed up in both pain and petulance, grumbling that he wasn't sick as his mother attempted to sooth him into bed.

Jyn imagines he wouldn't have looked much different than he does right now.

"Okay," Jyn allows, accepting moving Cassian to medbay would take a small miracle. She racks her brain for childhood memories of being sick. What would her parents have done to ease her pain? A memory, so dim Jyn isn't convinced she's not making it up, of her papa reading to her – a datapad just as likely to be his scientific reports as it was to be a children's story, honestly – as she lay with her head in his lap, weak with fever and desperate to be comforted, crosses her mind. Another of her mother giving her a warm broth. "Have you eaten?"

"No," Cassian swallows, and the painful sound that elicits tells Jyn why: his throat, swollen or scratchy or maybe both, hurts too much to make eating sound like a good prospect.

Jyn pulls the blanket down from Cassian's shoulder slightly to note that he didn't change out of his clothes before crawling into bed. She can't seem them to confirm, but she's almost certain that his boots would still be tied on his feet.

"I'll be right back," Jyn reassures the clingy Cassian as she moves to his small wardrobe, pulling out a clean set of sleep clothes for him to wear. Returning to his bed, she urges him to sit up. "Come on, you should get changed."

Now upright, Cassian stares at her, a blank look in his eye. After a long moment of silence, he sighs. "No, it's too far."

Jyn cocks an eyebrow at him, confused by his train of thought. "What's too far?"

"The door."

"What?" She glances at the door, wondering if he somehow heard a knock she missed.

"That's why I didn't open it for you. I knew you would come in on your own." He gives a tired glance towards the door. "And it just seemed too far."

 _Ah,_ Jyn suddenly understands. He's explaining why she had to open the door herself. Surely he doesn't think she's worried about that, right?

"Honestly, Cassian, don't worry about it."

The corners of his mouth tip up into a sleepy smile. "I like it when you do that."

"Break into your room?"

"No," the smile slips into Cassian's voice, warming it in the same way the fever is warming his cheeks. "When you say my name. It sounds nice."

Jyn leans forward to press her lips to his forehead, staying there to smile against his overheated skin for a moment. She dearly hopes he remembers – and doesn't regret – any of this when he feels better. She may not enjoy him being sick, but she does enjoy the unfiltered thoughts flashing across his eyes and flowing out of his mouth.

"You deserve nice things, _Cassian_." She emphasizes his name this time, enjoying the way his eyes light up at her. "And that includes some clean clothes to sleep in."

He doesn't resist as she reaches to push his jacket off his shoulders, compliantly helping the process. He takes over slightly more to pull his shirt off – Jyn notes with pleasure no new scars riddling his chest; if a cold is his only souvenir from this last mission, she has no complaints – and replace it with the sleep shirt. His normally dexterous fingers fumble with the belt until Jyn reaches down to help him. Cassian lets out a frustrated groan, running his hands down his face.

"Normally I can help more with this," he admits, a quiet laugh of disbelief coming out of his lips.

"I'll forgive you because you're—" His eyes flash a warning, demanding she not finish that sentence. "Tired," Jyn uses instead. "Tired from your mission."

Cassian laughs again, a breathless little sound, seeming to accept that explanation.

Once he's changed, Jyn urges his back to the pillows, pulling the blanket up to his shoulder. He reaches for her again as she stands. With a smile, Jyn admits she could get rather used to the idea of a clingy Cassian. She runs her hand over the side of his head, smoothing his hair back and gently running her nails along his scalp. He exhales, relaxing, and she presses another kiss to his clammy forehead.

"Stay," Cassian urges her, his grip still strong on her wrist.

"If you want. I just need to change."

Of course, Jyn hadn't planned on staying in Cassian's room when she rushed over here – hadn't planned on anything other than fulfilling her need to see Cassian – so she has none of her clothes with her. Heading back to Cassian's wardrobe, Jyn assumes he won't mind if she borrows a shirt to sleep in, doubts he'll even notice tonight. Quickly as she can, Jyn strips off her shirt and pants, pulling on one of Cassian's larger sleeping shirts, which falls to her thighs. Satisfied, Jyn turns back to the deeply breathing Cassian, crawling in beside him. For a moment, Jyn thinks he's fallen asleep, but then he reaches one arm around her, burrowing his face into her chest and pulling her close. Tucking his head under hers, Jyn runs her hand through his hair, again and again, listening to the way his breath evens out in response.

"Jyn?" Cassian mumbles into her – _his_ – shirt many minutes of silence later. "I think I'm sick."

Jyn bites her lip to suppress a smile, gently running her fingers through his hair as she answers. "Just sleep it off, Cassian. I'll be right here."


End file.
